


Trees

by hollymarionn



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 10:05:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5865031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollymarionn/pseuds/hollymarionn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was just Mikey alone in the trees. Just the trees and moss and the dark haired boy.</p>
<p>Based on the song Trees by Twenty One Pilots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trees

**Author's Note:**

> Discalimer: I do not own anything/anyone in this story other than the story itself. Obviously not real, just a work of my messed up mind.

The dappled sun shone through the leafy canopy onto the mulchy soil rot below and Mikey focused hard on kicking at a pile of leaves, clumped together by the earlier rain. The smell of the forest, dirty and fresh all at the same time was so familiar to him now, the smell following him wherever he travelled, always stuck in his nose, that smell, always, of decaying leaves and pine and that sweet lingering scent that nature bought that couldn't really be named.

Mikey loved the forest. He loved the cool, dark, dampness it offered, the way the shelter blocked out all outside noise, until all that could be heard was the swishing movement of the trees and the chirping if the birds. He loved to chase the little animals that dwelled within the trees and foraged amongst the leaves for berries and worms. He loved the colours that spring bought within the forest, the tiny wild flowers blooming in pastel pinks and yellows and greens amongst the roots, and the spotted toadstools that grew in clumps by the river bed. And he especially loved the forest on the days when they dark haired boy would come to visit.

Mikey sat in the knobbled branches of the old oak, waiting and watching for the dark haired boy to slouch down the gravelled path, worn into the leafy floor through years of use, the footsteps of school children trampling the worn passage through the trees. The forest acted as a shortcut between the back of the school and the houses on the other edge of town and it was a shortcut Mikey had used himself, many times. He and his brother, and often their best friend Frank would run through the field behind the school and into the cool embrace of the forest, their school ties whipping in the breeze. Oftentimes they would find themselves facing the cross gaze of their mother after arriving home late, mud staining the knees of their school pants from playing hide and seek amongst the trees, or stopping to catch the tadpoles swimming in the depths of the river.

"How many times have I told you, it's not safe to play in that forest alone?" Their mother would scold them, "one of you could be injured."

"We're not alone Mama, we have each other," Gerard would reply, eyes wide and earnest and their mother would soften. She warned them of the dangers of the forest, of what could happen within the leaves that Mikey loved so much, with the wild animals and falling branches and slippery moss, but none of them ever paid much attention. Mikey often thought that maybe he should warn the boy of the dangers too.

The boy sat at the foot of the same tree, wedged comfortably among the protruding roots, ignoring the marks the forest left on his already ripped and fraying jeans. Mikey thought that maybe he didn't notice the wet dirt smudges or the odd grass stains amongst the tears and the paint splatters and the tiny drawings that littered his jeans, or that maybe he just didn't care.

He would sit, whether for hours or mere minutes, Mikey knew not, with a faded, battered old notebook resting in his lap. Some days the ideas poured out of the boy, his hand scribbling furiously over the page, ink smudging across his hand in his haste to capture the thoughts flowing through his mind, out of his fingertips, lingering in his aura. Other days though, the boy would only scrawl occasionally into the book in his cramped, messy writing, thunking his head back against the thick trunk of the tree, mostly staring up at the small patches of blue that could be seen between the leafy ceiling above. Mikey liked to sit beside him on those days and watch with him, the way the blue shifted as the breeze blew.

Mikey liked to watch the boy even more than he liked watching the sky. He liked to watch the way the shadows changed on his face as the sun shifted incrementally, or the way the boy's brow furrowed and the tiniest tip of his tongue would poke through, pink between his lips when he concentrated. Mikey watched as he unconsciously picked at a hole in his jeans, fingers working it wider and wider as he wrote with the other hand.

When it was cold the boy would come dressed in layers and layers of clothing, just like Mikey had in the winter when he was a child, to protect his frail body from the icy fingers of illness. Of course, it had never helped and he would always end up in bed, racking coughs and wheezing chests a regular part of his life. The dark haired boy didn't seem to be as affected by the cold as Mikey though, still coming even when the mossy floor was tinted white by the frost, giant striped scarf tossed around his neck, his breath foggy and visible in the crisp air. Even when the sky's opened up and the rain created puddles between the roots, the dark haired boy would be there, bright red umbrella in hand, rucksack thrown haphazardly over his shoulder. He would take his place amongst the roots and begin his writing, just as every other day.

And then would come the time of day that another boy would appear in the forest clearing. This boy was shorter, his uniform baggy, a cap or beanie usually pulled over his sandy coloured hair, carrying an instrument case of some type. Mikey hated this chubby boy, mostly because whenever this boy appeared, the dark haired boy would begin to cram his notebook back inside his already overflowing rucksack. Then they would follow the path through the forest, chattering on about their day at school or the chubby boy’s music practice or their plans for the weekend until they were out the other side, the mossy path becoming pavement under their feet. And Mikey would be left alone again.

He wanted so badly to follow them, to join in their conversation, to reach out and touch the dark haired boy, but he couldn't. Because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get the dark haired boy to see him, to notice him. Sometimes Mikey would rustle leaves, or drop acorns from the branches above, in hopes of gaining the boys attention. But the actions were never more than something the boy passed off as a natural occurrence. Mikey tried talking to him, asking the boy his name, what he was doing in the forest, but his whispers were always lost in the wind and the rustle of leaves.

~~

_The boys had been sitting in the tree house that they had spent long sun-soaked afternoons building together when they were younger, playing cards while Gerard smoked lazily out of the small window when Frank had looked at his watch._

_"Oh shit, it's so late. We gotta go."_

_He threw himself down the ladder and took off down the path, Gerard hot on his heels. Mikey tried his best to keep up with them, he really did, but the sun was fierce that day, causing his shirt to stick to his back, and his lungs were so shitty. He sucked in a breath, and then another, the dreaded but familiar rattle in his chest forcing him to stop. He leant against a tree, doubled over and searched for the inhaler he kept in his back pocket._

_"Hurry up Mikes, we're so dead!"_

_Except the inhaler wasn't there, probably jostled out in the haste to get the hell home before his mother threw a fit. And now the world was going dark around the edges, and his breath was a quick sharp gasp as his chest tightened and felt like it was caving in, crushing his rib cage, squeezing his lungs. His vision swam and his ears roared and he heard his mother telling him that the forest was no place for children to play, that it was dangerous and, Jesus, now he was going to die. He should have listened, he should have stayed away from the forest._

~~

But now the forest was all he had. Frank and Gerard had visited a few times since they had found Mikey sprawled in the roots of a giant, towering pine tree, and Frank had even left flowers once or twice. But eventually they stopped coming and it was just Mikey alone in the trees. Just the trees and moss and the dark haired boy. He and his friend were the only people that ever really passed through the forest now, not since the rumour had started that the forest was haunted. And so Mikey liked the dark haired boy, he enjoyed his company, even if it was just for a little while, even if he never spoke, even if he didn't know Mikey existed.

Mikey watched as the chubby boy wandered down the path, calling out to his friend as he reached the edge of the shrubbery. The dark haired boy joined him and they started off, further into the forest, walking away from Mikey, leaving him alone. Always so alone. Mikey didn't want the boy to go, not again. He was so lonely here in the trees. The sadness and frustration built up inside Mikey, overflowing and he aimed another kick at the pile of leaves. This time though, instead of Mikey's foot disappearing through the pile, it connected and a shower of leaves was sent spiralling through the air with a satisfying crunching noise.

"Patrick, wait.” The dark haired boy slowed. “Did you hear that?" He whipped around, his gaze landing on the leaves that were slowly floating back to the mossy earth, staring at the exact spot that Mikey was standing. But the chubby boy just shook his head.

"Come on Pete, we need to be home before it gets dark."

He tugged on the dark haired boys arm, enticing him forward slowly. The dark haired boy gave one last look back over his shoulder at where Mikey was standing, staring right through Mikey, his dark eyes searching the undergrowth for the source of the noise, before adjusting his rucksack on his shoulder and following the other boy.

And as the boys headed further down the path, closer to town, Mikey didn't feel so sad, because the boy had noticed him today. He had noticed. And it was nothing grand, just a small victory, but it was something. He wanted to kick up a thousand leaves, create a storm all whipping wind and shaking trees, if it meant the boy would look at him again. But for now, this was enough. And, Mikey thought happily as he climbed the old, fraying rope ladder to the decrepit treehouse, he could always try again tomorrow.


End file.
